Frodo stood alone amongst black mists of shadow. He trembled, the shadows threatening to engulf him. The shadows formed into scenes from his life as they hazily played through his memory. Slowly the scenes fade, the mists seperating. White beams of light shot through the mists as they crept away. Frodo looked around, figures started forming. They stood like ghosts. Entities from a past life Frodo knew nothing about. He saw the form of a man, a rugged ranger with a strong sword and heart. Slowly the man faded and was gone. Frodo saw two other figures, an elf and some other creature about his size but with a long curly beard. Frodo felt his own chin trying to put a name to these strange faces but before he could, they were gone. All that was left of the dissipating mists were three small figures. Two were a bit taller than him with wild curly hair. Save their size, Frodo knew they were of his race, whatever it was. Slowly the two overly tall figures had gone just as the others.

All that was left was the one small figure, just like him. White light poured into his dream casting away the pain into a gentle numbness. The last figure was so terribly familiar. He was Frodo's height with sandy curls and large brown eyes. He was the picture of pure faith and innocense. Loyalty and friendship shone in his eyes, his smile warm and comforting. Frodo put out his hand to touch the figure's face but it was just a formation of mist. The figure smiled blindly not seeing Frodo. He wore plain garb, that of a simple man, perhaps a gardener.

Frodo squinted trying desperately to put a name to such a sweet face. "I know you," he whispered, "I'm sure of it." Frodo brushed a hand past his eyes as the figure slowly dissipated with the last shreds of mist. "No!" Frodo tried to stop the figure from fading from him. "I know you!" But the figure was gone and now the gentle numbness took over Frodo's mind. There was no more pain, there was no more pleasure, there was no joy nor grief. Just this oblivious existance that Frodo detested.

He woke suddenly, "I know you!" Was his last cries as the dream faded. Frodo fought his mind to regain the memory of the one he dreamt of. "I know it in my heart. He was real."

After some time Bilbo came into the room, "Frodo, my lad, what is wrong? I heard you crying."

"I just had a dream," Frodo sighed, feeling like a foolish child.

"Might I ask what this dream was about?"

"Faces. Faces I couldn't remember. But I should. I know I should."

Bilbo gave Frodo a reassuring pat on the back. "It is hard to keep one's mind here."

"But there is something in my heart that won't let go. And-" Frodo stammered, "And I tears at me!" He cried.

"To find healing you must let go."

"No!" Frodo cried, "He was real. I know it. And he'll come. He'll come."

"Who, Frodo?"

Frodo shook his head, "I don't know. That is, I don't know here," he pointed to his forehead, "But I- I know here," he moved his hand to his heart.

"Hold onto them then. Hold onto the memories you cherish. And let the one's that pain you fade away."

"But if I let the terrible memories fade away, won't those that I cherish also leave me?" Frodo asked his voice shaking riddled with fear for losing the one he tried so hard to hold on to.

"I don't know."

"I won't let them go. He'll come. I want to be here when he does. I won't lose myself. For his sake he deserves me to be here when he comes."

Bilbo was very confused, "Where would you go?"

Frodo sighed and rambled on, "I won't lose myself. I'll hold."

Bilbo sat on the bed next to Frodo and soothed him back to sleep.


That morning Frodo stood on the beach watching the sun rise over the land that had been taken away from him. It seemed so long ago. A life lived not by him but by some other and he just watched like some stage show playing before his memory. But it was slowly fading. It was all but gone now, and how he ached to have it back. There was nothing now, not pain, not joy, he was just so empty. The sea carressed the white, sparkling beach, blue and grey foam washed over Frodo's toes. Frodo stared down at his feet. They were unnaturally large for one his size and covered in a warm coat of fur. He twiddled his toes.

"What am I? I know I'm not an elf, or anything like Gandalf. I'm like Bilbo. I'm much smaller than everyone else here, save Bilbo. But what am I?"

He mused a while, staring at the sea. Picturing that sweet, innocent face, the name slipping ever further away. He saw him in the sky, in the sea, in the sand. Everywhere that cherubic face haunted him so.

"Who are you? I'm trying. I really am. I don't want to forget you. I'll know you'll come and find me if I lose myself. But I don't want to lose myself. I should be here when you come."

The sun slowly rose, the grey sky turning a pale shade of gold and white. Still Frodo stood, as a stone figure waiting. The morning waned, the water rising. Now it splashed his feet, up to his ankles in the mists of green and blue. His hair swayed like seaweed beneath the few inches of water. Frodo smiled, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Please come and find me. Remind me."

As he thrust his hands in his pockets he felt something amiss. He lifted one hand and there it was as if it always had been there. Or had not been there a more likely way of putting it. One of his fingers was gone. Frodo gaped. How did that happen? Where was his other finger! One hand had five fingers and the other four. The very center one was gone. An emptiness where it once had been.

"I feel empty," he said sadly, thrusting his hands back in his pockets, not wanting to look at the one.

He stood for a while longer, staring down at his feet, his hands pressed firmly in his pockets. If he could delve any deeper into them he'd be up to his elbows. He slouched. He looked like a small lad that had gotten a scolding.


Frodo turned to see Gandalf. His bushy brows furrowed in worry. "What is wrong?"

"I miss him." Frodo turned back to the sea, picturing that face again. He smiled warmly.


"My brother."

"You never had a brother, Frodo."

Frodo spun around a hurt look on his face. "Then who is he. He feels like a brother. So close, like he is a part of me. You know don't you, Gandalf. Please tell me."

"It is not my place, nor in my power to give you such memories. It's not that simple."

"He looks like me, though. He's small, and has curly hair, and big feet. He's not an elf. He's like me."

"A Hobbit," Gandalf said at length.

"Yes, a Hobbit!" Frodo lept out of the water. "That's what I am! And Bilbo too! And so is- he. We're Hobbits!" His excited look faded, "But this is a land for elves. How did a Hobbit, like me, get here?"

"Perhaps another time."

"No, tell me."

"It's not that simple."

Frodo crossed his arms, "When he comes, he'll tell me. And I WON'T forget him. I'll hold on."

"Go ahead, Frodo, no one is trying to make you forget. When he comes I'm sure he'll tell you."

"Ha!" Frodo pointed an acusing finger at Gandalf, then shoved his hand back in his pocket for it was the one that had the gap. "So he is coming! I knew! Well I'll wait."

"You have eternity."

Frodo's eyes widened. "No, not eternity. I can't hold on that long."

"Time has little relevence here. Do not fret, Frodo, he'll be here before you know it. And eternity isn't forever. You will live in the elvish twilight."

Frodo didn't understand, nor did he care much. Just getting through every day was hard. He tried to hold so hard. So long.

"He was real. I know it. And he'll come. He'll come."

It was like dangling off a cliff. Hanging there, holding on just waiting for the one person that could help you up. When Frodo closed his eyes he could picture it. He hung over these wild rushing waters as the sea churned and beat against the stone cliff he hung from. His hands gripped desperately to the edge. Water sprayed up and beat the cliff more, the rocky shelf became smooth and wet. Frodo felt his fingers slowly sliding. The waters groped him all the more, coaxing him to just let go. The sea deceived. It was a test.

"Come down, Frodo, it will be alright. Forget that life, it was nothing but pain for you. You don't want that pain again. Come down to us, Frodo. There's peace down here, peace and healing."

"No," Frodo muttered aloud, his fists now clenched in his pockets and his eyes screwed shut. He was wrapped in the dream so vividly. The actual sea was indeed rising now up to his knees.

Frodo felt his fingers slipping he gripped for a tighter hold. "Please come. Help me. Find me."

The sea burned in flames of sapphire and emerald lapping at him. Long arms groped his own arms and smoothed over him soothingly. "Everything is alright down here, Frodo. Nothing matters any more. Just let go. Let go."

"No!" Frodo shouted again. This was a test. But what was it testing? Frodo could not be sure but he knew he would not give in. "I won't let go! He'll come and help me up!"

"There's no one for you any more. Give in to the healing. Give in to the magic of the Valor. We will help you. Come down to us. There are no scars, no wounds, here. That is all in the past. Cast away the past, Frodo."

"No! Sam!" Frodo opened his eyes and fell back into the water. With a great splash he tried desperately to scramble to his feet, kicking and fighting the water. When he stood the first thought was that he had failed, let go and accepted the healing waters that would make him forget. He did not remember the name he had called, or anything else he said in his dream. And as quickly as it came the dream faded. Frodo felt very foolish and started walking back to the elven homes.

Bilbo was the first to see him coming. "Frodo! You're soaked! What happened?"

Frodo laughed, "I must have fallen in the sea. I feel like such a fool. Just tripped over my own feet, I guess."

He then looked down at his feet and knew he was forgetting something. There was something about him that was different. He was waiting for something. But what?